In Shanghai nights I’d sit and write,
The fire within me burning bright.
With essays flowing, smooth and clear,
Each word I penned felt free, sincere.

 

But soon came silence, slow and wide,
In 2002, my drive had died.
My Next was cheering, craving more—
But Now rebelled, it seemed a chore.

 

With her beside me, joy came through,
What once felt hard, was sweet to do.
Now and Next, not torn apart—
I moved ahead with happy heart.

 

No whip or guilt could push me far,
So Next asked gently who we are.
“How can Now find fun today,
To edit essays feel like play?”

 

Three weeks passed before it hit—
A clever plan, a perfect fit.
A local ad for her listening ear,
With her beside me, I’d have no tears.

 

She came, she smiled, she sat and stayed,
And though no edits she conveyed,
Her presence made the process light—
A silent muse, my guiding light.

 

At first I lied, “Please do suggest,”
But when she felt safe, I did confess,
“You help me more than words can show—
Just you beside me makes me flow.”

 

With her beside me, joy came through,
What once felt hard, was sweet to do.
Now and Next, not torn apart—
I moved ahead with happy heart.

 

From Shanghai days to courage’s page,
A book was born, broke through that cage.
Thanks to those girls by my side,
Each a catalyst, like a rising tides.

 

A lie, at times, can clear the way,
For truth to have its rightful say.
And when Next learns to honor Now,
Then dreams align for we know how.

 

With her beside me, joy came through,
What once felt hard, was sweet to do.
Now and Next, not torn apart—
I moved ahead with happy heart.